Beneath an Irish Sky (Choc Lit)

by Connor, Isabella

  It had been the right decision to come. Luke, sitting at the front of the church, head bowed, needed all the support he could get. Emer’s heart went out to him. The woman who had been the rock at the centre of his world was gone, and he was faced with building a new life – a daunting prospect.

  Emer had been through it herself, with Michael. Her grief, confusion, despair and fear of the future were still more than just a memory. She wished she could spare Luke that, but death was part of life, one of the hardest lessons to learn. At least she could be here for him today, to show her support, her friendship, and to listen if he needed to talk.

  The organist stopped, and a man went to the microphone at the side of the altar. There was movement at the back of the church and glancing round, Emer saw the priest ready to lead the cortège. Luke had stood up, holding on to the back of the pew for support, his eyes fixed on the coffin. He looked resolute and dignified, head held high, but he was pale and had dark circles under his eyes. He seemed slighter than she remembered, but he looked smart in his suit. Annie would surely have been proud.

  The rich baritone of a male soloist singing ‘You Raise me Up’ suddenly filled the church and, as the singer ended the first verse, Emer watched Annie’s coffin borne down the aisle to the sound of uilleann pipes. The haunting sound, so unmistakeably Irish, made her think of the rolling green of her homeland and of a young woman with a dark-haired, blue-eyed toddler, battling against the odds. Emer was glad the music brought Luke’s world into this small English church.

  As the coffin neared, she made the sign of the cross and saw Jack was one of the pallbearers. Staring straight ahead, his face was strained. The young man sharing the load on the other side could only be his son, Matt. Same-shaped face, same eyes. He looked tearful, and Emer remembered that at just four years of age, he’d lost two mothers.

  As the sound of the pipes built to a crescendo, the soloist and the choir resumed the poignant vocals of the modern hymn. Although she hadn’t known Annie, Emer was feeling her loss and Luke’s pain. He was more than just a patient to her now, and Jack was more than just a relative. The longer she spent with them, the harder it would be to pull back. And truth was, she didn’t really want to.

  The coffin was set down in front of the altar, the wreaths of beautiful white lilies and yellow roses placed nearby. As the music stopped, Jack and Matt moved to the front pew next to Luke, and the priest sprinkled holy water, intoning solemnly, ‘The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ and the love of God and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you all.’

  Because of the sparse gathering, Emer was relieved there was a choir, and following their beautiful rendition of the Ave Maria, the priest moved on to the prayer. Although an order of service sheet had been provided, most of the congregation was clearly not Catholic because the responses were few and fumbled.

  Jack’s jaw was set, his focus on the coffin, his feelings probably a confusing mix, part love, part anger. Luke sat rigid in the pew, maybe waiting for the sign from the priest, which eventually came when the sermon was over, in the form of a nod and a reassuring smile.

  Emer clenched her hands, nails digging into the palms as Luke, unsteady on his crutches, went to the lectern, clutching a piece of paper, which he placed in front of him. He took a deep breath and lifted his head. Proudly. She could read his feelings as easily as if they were written down in front of her. It was all there – love, anger, defiance and stubborn resolve. Every emotion needed to survive this ordeal. She was glad to be here for this remarkable young man who was rising above his grief to pay tribute to his mother. Tears pricked her eyes. She hadn’t felt able to give a eulogy for Michael, yet here was Luke, younger and comparatively uneducated, standing there bravely in front of strangers.

  ‘I could read before I was five,’ Luke began, his voice quiet and wavering slightly. ‘My mother taught me because she wanted me to share her love of books and she wanted me to be educated so’s I could make a decent future. She was a realist, my mam, and she knew bein’ at school wasn’t always easy for Travellers.’

  Emer was mentally willing him on and his confidence appeared to be increasing, his voice growing stronger as he continued. ‘She didn’t own much. Books from car boot sales, second-hand clothes and music from an old radio I found in a skip. There was nothin’ wrong with the radio. Easy come, easy go for some folk. But my mam was rich in other ways – in the things that matter. People loved her because she cared.

  ‘She’d help anyone. Would share whatever she had, even if it wasn’t much. She encouraged Traveller kids to learn as much as they could. She cared for my grand-da when he got sick. She’d sit up all night, puttin’ cool cloths on his head or readin’ to him, but she still found time to take whatever jobs she could to help us live. She cleaned offices, delivered leaflets, picked fruit. Society doesn’t give many options to Travellers, but she never complained, just made the best of it. When she felt down, she’d sing. She loved to sing.

  ‘She always wanted me to have the best things in life, but to her, those were things money couldn’t buy. If I felt sorry for myself because I didn’t have a PlayStation or decent football boots, she’d tell me we were rich compared to people who had nothin’ and were starvin’. She’d say a lot of people had a better deal than us – but even more had a worse one.’

  At this point, Luke turned slightly to look at Jack. ‘She didn’t have a privileged life, but she had more principles than most. Things weren’t easy, but she made me feel loved and wanted – the most important thing for any kid.’

  Luke’s eyes had remained on his father, and Jack would surely have registered the emphasis on the word she, for it seemed a deliberate slight.

  ‘Bein’ rich doesn’t mean someone’s honest and bein’ poor doesn’t mean they’re dishonest,’ Luke continued, before pausing once more, and turning to look at Annie’s coffin. ‘When life got difficult, she gave me strength. I hope I did the same for her. I’m not ashamed of what I am because the finest person I’m ever likely to know was a Traveller. They say no one’s perfect, but my mam came close, and anyone should have been proud to know her.’

  He folded up the paper and put it into his pocket, then moved slowly away from the lectern and back to his seat for the rest of the service. When it was over, he made his way to the coffin. As he placed his hand on it, the closest he could get to touching his mother for the last time, Emer heard him say, ‘Go well, Mam. I love you.’ Then the pall-bearers took up their positions to carry Annie Kiernan to her final resting place.

  Emer’s vision blurred and her throat constricted painfully as she tried not to cry. Luke had succeeded in painting a vivid picture of a woman who’d struggled against the odds but never given up on life, or on her son, and it was patently obvious how much he’d loved her. Whether her tears were for Annie or for Luke, or maybe just the whole sadness of the occasion, Emer wasn’t sure. What she did know was that Luke had arranged this funeral with the intention of squeezing as much emotion as possible from those who attended. He’d admitted that on Sunday night when he’d said bitterly, ‘They’ll remember my mother’s death, even if they didn’t remember her life.’

  His eyes downcast, Luke followed the coffin out of the church. There were no tears, but he must surely be feeling more than he was showing. Emer was humbled by the way this young man had honoured his mother with a dignified, untutored eloquence. If that didn’t soften Jack’s heart, nothing would.

  Kate tried to stop her teeth chattering as she stood at the graveside. The freezing wind was cutting right through. Father Quinn was still going strong after ten minutes, raising his voice at times to compete with the noisy rooks. Every time Kate thought he was about to close, the priest just took a breath and kept going. How many more saints could there be left to name?

  Kate distracted herself by discreetly looking around at the mourners. Not many for a woman’s lifetime. She wondered who the
pretty redhead was. A woman standing alone, at some distance, as though she felt she didn’t belong. Maybe one of those serial funeral attenders Kate had read about.

  Matt’s godparents, Dave and Evie Mitchell, had come. Dave was Baronsmere’s policeman – as a young teen, Kate had been on the receiving end of more than one fatherly warning for silly things, like that incident with the vodka … The joy of living in a small, rural community – even the police were your friends. Would Luke have been a tearaway if he’d grown up here? Would he have become almost a brother to her, as Matt had … or would they have been childhood sweethearts? Yes, she had definite plans for him and they weren’t sisterly ones.

  Tony and Barbara Hayes were there, too – before she married Jack, Annie had worked in their pub, the Fox and Feathers, which Sarah disparagingly called ‘the plebs’ local. Tony looked gutted. So did Claire, Jack’s sister. She was unaccompanied – no one else from the Stewarts had shown up. Claire’s husband, Richard, had dropped her off and quickly disappeared. He was a vile human being. Claire was lovely, and Kate could only assume Richard had changed drastically after he married her, because by all accounts, he was a lousy husband. Matt said he and Luke had met up with Claire on Monday, and she’d bonded instantly with Luke. That wouldn’t have gone down well with Richard.

  Kate turned to her left and glanced at Jack. There was no sign of emotion. In the church, he’d stared straight ahead at the altar. Maybe he felt nothing. It had been twenty-odd years since he’d been with Annie. In contrast, Maggie was weeping, as she had been since the service began. Matt said she’d loved Annie like a daughter. Matt had cried, too. He said he’d cried for Annie after she left, but Jack would get angry if she was mentioned so Matt got used to not talking about her, mourning her in private, missing his bedtime stories, missing her cuddles.

  Luke, like Jack, hadn’t cried once during the funeral service. Funny that – the two people closest to Annie hadn’t shed any tears. When she’d told Matt she was going to the funeral, he’d laughingly accused her of only doing it because she fancied Luke, but she really did want to support him. He was a stranger to the village and must surely feel overwhelmed. Kate didn’t need to support her mother, that was for sure. Sarah was tough as nails and didn’t need anybody’s shoulder to cry on. Her head was bowed, but not in grief – she was discreetly looking at a valuable bracelet one of her men friends had given her. Rose-gold moonstone, she said it was. All week she’d been twisting her wrist to see it shine in the light.

  Finally Kate heard the words ‘ashes to ashes, dust to dust’ that signalled the end. The priest sprinkled holy water over the coffin then Jack knelt down, picked up some earth, and threw it into the grave. Matt did the same, murmuring, ‘Rest in peace, Annie.’

  Kate watched as Matt picked up some more earth and pressed it discreetly into Luke’s hand, but there was no response at first. Luke seemed dazed, which wasn’t surprising.

  ‘Goodbye, Mam,’ he said finally, his voice almost a whisper, as he crumbled the soil over the tricolour now replaced on top of the coffin, its coloured stripes of green, white and orange streaked with mud and earth. Kate wanted to cry. She wanted to hold Luke’s hand, give him a hug, and tell him it would all be okay, except it wouldn’t. Not for a long time.

  And that was it. Father Quinn closed his Bible and people started to walk away. The funeral was over.

  ‘Let’s go,’ Matt urged Luke, who hadn’t moved. Then he just crumpled, falling against Matt who caught him before he hit the ground.

  ‘Dad!’ Matt sounded panic-stricken.

  Jack was quickly at the other side, supporting Luke who seemed barely conscious. ‘Okay, okay – I’ve got him,’ he said.

  ‘Mum?’ Sarah was a certified first-aider, but Kate noticed she offered no assistance.

  ‘They’re doing fine,’ said Sarah, but her voice was cold. ‘He doesn’t need to be crowded.’

  Maggie hurried over. ‘I was afraid of this,’ she said. ‘He’s hardly eaten in days.’

  Luke’s eyes fluttered open and between them Jack and Matt settled him back onto his crutches. Matt pulled out his hip flask, forcing Luke to take a sip of the brandy. He gagged but at least regained some colour and nodded weakly when Jack asked if he could make it to the car.

  They set off slowly toward the cemetery gates, passing the unknown redhead, who was gazing at Luke with concern. ‘Are you okay?’ the woman asked as she moved forward and touched his arm. He smiled, obviously pleased to see her.

  She looked nice, and Kate was grateful Luke had a familiar face there for him today.

  ‘Looks like you’re not needed after all,’ Sarah commented, linking her arm through Kate’s.

  God, her mother could be a bitch at times.

  Jack scanned the drawing room from the doorway but couldn’t see Emer. There’d been no chance to talk to her since arriving back from the church.

  ‘She’s in the dining room,’ said Matt, handing him a glass of wine.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Jack, taking a sip. A nice flinty Chablis. Sarah always chose well. ‘Sorry – who’s in the dining room?’

  ‘The redhead. Who is she?’

  Jack tried to sound casual. ‘Emer Sullivan. Luke’s bereavement counsellor.’ He sensed he was under scrutiny but stared straight ahead at the portrait of Great-Uncle George in his regimental uniform.

  ‘She’s a long way from home, isn’t she?’

  An innocent remark? Probably not. Matt could read him like a book.

  ‘A sad business, Jack, a sad business,’ said Tony Hayes, joining them in the doorway. ‘Can’t believe that sweet lass is gone.’ Jack gave a non-committal murmur and gulped down some wine. ‘Where’s her ladyship then?’

  Could Tony talk any louder? Draw any more attention to the fact his parents had boycotted the funeral? ‘She’s a bit under the weather, Tony,’ said Jack, through gritted teeth. Having to cover for his parents was a nightmare.

  ‘Coming through, coming through.’

  They moved aside as Kate came into the drawing room with Luke in tow. He still looked pale. After the incident at the graveside, Jack had arranged for the family doctor to call.

  ‘Hey, bro – come and meet Tony,’ said Matt.

  Jack excused himself and went into the hall. Now, where was Emer?

  ‘Jack …’

  Sarah pulled him into the nook next to the grandfather clock. ‘How are you? This must have been so traumatic. I can only imagine …’

  She was standing very close to him. Too close for people who were no longer in a relationship. Jack hoped Sarah wasn’t going to suggest they get back together. ‘I have to get back to the guests,’ he said, trying to sidle around her.

  Then two things happened at once. Richard walked in through the front door and Emer came out of the dining room.

  ‘Well, well,’ smirked Richard, eyeing Jack and Sarah. ‘Look at you two lovebirds. There are six bedrooms in this house – couldn’t you find one of them?’ He caught sight of Emer and smiled. ‘Hello. I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. I’m Richard. Shall we go through? It’s a little crowded out here.’

  Emer glanced at Jack before being propelled by Richard into the drawing room.

  ‘Who’s she?’ asked Sarah.

  ‘Emer,’ said Jack. ‘She counselled Luke after the accident.’

  ‘Isn’t this a bit above and beyond the call of duty?’

  ‘I think it’s more personal now. She became quite attached to Luke – and he to her.’

  ‘Judging from the look on her face just now, I don’t think it was only Luke she became attached to.’ There was a hard edge to Sarah’s voice and she brushed past him, heading for the dining room.

  Suddenly, it was all too much. Jack needed to get away from everyone, to clear his head of the memories threatening to engulf him. If he allowed
that to happen, he’d be back where he was twenty years ago. Flailing, unable to cope. Overwhelmed by grief, shock, bitterness. He went to his study and closed the door. It was the wrong decision. Alone, the memories flooded back. Memories of Annie, and his love for her. Hers for him. If it had been bad when she first left, it was ten times worse now. At least then he hadn’t known that she had a child whose head she’d filled with lies. A son she’d kept from him. A son who was out there now, sick and bereft.

  Jack wanted to make more effort with Luke. He wasn’t so hard he didn’t feel compassion, but it had taken him a long time to get over Annie. He wasn’t even sure he ever had. Embracing her son might reopen the wounds that had been all but fatal emotionally, but would he regret it if he didn’t try? Jack left the study, knowing what he should do but still not knowing if he could.

  Emer and Richard were standing by the dining-room window, just behind the sofa where Tony was seated next to Luke. ‘Your mother was one of the best barmaids I ever had,’ Jack heard Tony say. ‘So if you’re in the market for a job, just give me a shout.’

  Dear God, Matt and Luke working behind a bar. Well, he’d always championed the working man – no one could say Jack Stewart was a snob.

  ‘There you are,’ said Richard, exuding fake bonhomie, as Jack took a glass of wine from a tray carried by a waitress. ‘Nice “do” you’ve put on.’

  Jack wanted to strangle him. If insensitivity could be bottled, the man would be the main supplier. ‘For God’s sake, Richard, have a bit of respect – it’s not a bloody party.’

  ‘I was a bit alarmed when I dropped Claire off at the church,’ Richard continued. ‘Thought I’d stumbled on some militant funeral with that flag on the coffin. I was waiting for the gunfire volley.’